


A Spell for Everything

by WynterOwens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Magic Books, Other, Trigger Warning: Starvation, Trigger Warning; Self Harm, sad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9866621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WynterOwens/pseuds/WynterOwens
Summary: He couldn't tell you exactly how it started.Maybe it was when he read the book, or when he used the first spell.Maybe it was when he began to bruise and slice.It was a bit complicated; An addiction of some sorts.Despite all that, Draco has made new friends in what he believes is the worst way ever. He never asked for this. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't want people to know.But now they do,And he doesn't know how to feel about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Unbeta'd story, so please bear with me! Please and thank you! Okay, so there is also a lot of self half and depressing stuff in this chapter, proceed with caution. Lots of triggers if you are sensitive to this stuff.

Perhaps, it started with a book he'd read during his free time. One high up on a shelf, yet somehow just within his reach. One that no one warned him about. One that stole his free time in giving him more of it. When he first got the book, it was easy and better for him to use his time. No chasing after his father's steps unless he wanted to at that time. It was during his first year, honestly. That was where it could have began.

"Father? What book is this?" He had asked such a stupid question. In hindsight, He knew he never should have become so curious in such an addictive thing. At the time, Draco had no idea what the spells in that book would do to him. He had no idea what affects it would have on his life. How it would turn him from that cherub faced child into something he couldn't explain.

"If you're that curious, we will buy it. Please, read it on your own time," His father dismissed in an uninterested tone, placing the book on the counter. Draco did not notice the look on the clerk's face, giving them the book so as not to hold up the line or the Malfoys. No use creating attention where it wasn't wanted. After checking in their items, the elder Malfoy led his son out, heading home after a day of running errands. Ah, back when Draco enjoyed doing everything in his father's footsteps.

Once home, Draco retired himself to his room to place his book in the shelf it would be sitting in for a long time before he actually read it. The blond had been so excited to crack into the book, though. Therefore, he plucked it right back off the shelf to open it up.

 _Replacing Needs_ , by an author who had personally signed the book. Despite knowing how to read cursive, the boy hadn't the foggiest as to what the author's name was. His mistake. It seemed like there was only one book, which saddened Draco at the time. What if he liked the book? What if he needed more?

Regardless, his first year at Hogwarts, Draco spent his free time reading the strange book as he wandered about and adjusted to the castle. It was one of the only things that kept him from messing with Potter or his little posse. Who knows where he'd be if he'd kept up with pestering them. The rejection upon first appearances was almost enough to scare him off. Keeping up with it only lasted a week before Malfoy found himself more interested about learning and his two new friends, Crabbe and Goyle.

Then again, that was his mistake. Perhaps if he had made friends with Potter, or if he kept up with messing with them, he wouldn't have gotten to this point. He wouldn't have defected like this.

The book taught him a multitude of spells. New spells that he had never heard of people even using. He could make his stomach full with a flick of his wand. No need to go down to dinner or lunch. He had more time, and he could hardly move the first few times from how stuffed he felt. With a twirl, he could trick his mind into thinking he'd slept for nearly eighteen hours instead of two. Well rested and ready for a day of school, Draco found all sorts of energy in his. A feeling he should have never wanted to feel.

Then again, he only tested them in small amounts at a time. The first couple months when he was practicing them. They were too intimidating for him to get perfect at that time. He only used them once in a while so no one really noticed. The blond boy hadn't wanted anyone to take or use his new book, his favorite book, for themselves.

So no, It wasn't until his second year that they actually came in handy for him. You could count that as a start as well. When he was too busy, he'd use the food spell. That came in handy on more than one occasion. But he liked sleep then, his dreams were comforting. Draco missed that terribly. He could enjoy dreaming and not be plagued with faces, voices, etc.

Every once in a while, though, Draco would just space out- focusing on his transfiguration spells and methods. There was something going wrong, and he couldn't think of what. It truly was his worst subject. And he would forget to eat, only to remember by the time they went to bed.

It didn't happen too often. At the most, he would use the spells twice a week. And that was only for the first couple months as he got everything into gear. He started using them a little more for the rest of the year in order to practice. At the time, he also experimented on other people. There wasn't anything bad about using the spell, he'd thought. And he could use it on anyone. For an eleven year old with a thirst for power to live up to his father's standards? He felt like the king of the world.

Let alone, his third year. Draco rather enjoyed his third year at Hogwarts, spending more time messing with the Golden Trio. Just because seeing those goody two shoes fluster made his chest warm. Or perhaps, it was just seeing that angry flush attack Potter's cheeks. Always satisfying. His practice on other people continued, but he was a little off on doing the spell on himself. He needed to practice on himself again, so he started to just at the end of the year.

Perhaps it should be said now, Draco did still practice over the summers. Only for lunch and breakfast. But summer was when he used the sleep spell to the point of perfecting it, nightmares beginning to set in the summer after his fourth year. Though, the house elves were the only ones who ever noticed the boy getting thinner and, yet, still acting energetic. They knew he wouldn't eat until dinner, because he was spending all his time reading a strange book that he'd read multiple times before, judging by the worn look it had.

During the summer was also when he practiced some of the other spells in the book. How to hydrate yourself without water, how to clean yourself without needing to shower, how to dress yourself with just a single word, etc. Every need or partial want that a human had, you could replace with a spell. Speak a paragraph and have all your needs cared for in under a minute. And Draco managed to perfect it. At the time, he felt like a god, giving himself more time to read and study. This could be considered a start of it all.

Then came his fourth year, which could also have been considered another start to all of this.

Draco simply lost time. Lost some control of it, lost track of it, needed even more of it. Too many classes, and he spent a lot of time learning from his father at home. That was the year he stayed at home rather at Hogwarts. After his last course of the day, the boy would be picked up to go home. Even now, he wasn't sure how his father persuaded Dumbledore or even MacGonnagol to give him a pass. His time was spent being taught how to run the manor, how to talk to a house elf as the master of the manor, and a multitude of other things. By the time he even thought of eating, he was too tired.

Aside from that, Draco's stomach would complain even at the thought of food. It was too extravagant, too much, too warm. He just didn't want it. The blond went from using his spell just once in a while to using it daily. At least for lunch. His summer spells were used frequently as well, bringing him some comfort. He couldn't always keep track of time, but he could give himself more of it if he needed to. The boy would take that extra time to sit by the lake. He would tell you the thoughts he may have had while reclining there, but you wouldn't like them.

The lake tempted him with cool waves and murky depths. Even in the bright sun, the surface was cloudy. Many a time, Draco had found it to be rather symbolic of his mind these days. too confused and dazed by everything around him.

Halfway through fourth year, he'd given up on Harry already. They weren't becoming friends, and Draco didn't have the energy to become rivals. Where had that sprightly young thing gone from just a few years ago? Despite the spells, the blond had more than enough energy to run around and pick fights, go to classes, anything. Now, Draco was hardly touching age fifteen, and it made him feel old to think of all the things he couldn't do now because of how tired he was. Pansy and other girls somehow fell in love with the skeleton he thought of himself as. Bah, as if he were even a skeleton back then. What he would give to look like that once again. He'd been considered a fit body, a perfect body to him now, to be skeleton or too fat some days. And no, He couldn't even tell you when that thought began to appear in his head.

At the end of year four, Draco had lost over fifty pounds. It wasn't as noticeable back then. His mum wrote it off as growing out of his chubby phase, and that this was just another stage of puberty. She said next would come his voice dropping, and it didn't come. After that would be a series of growth spurts; yet he still didn't grow an inch. He remained a stunted sixty-three inches with a smooth, barely medium pitch voice. His limbs were thin, but at the time, they still held a little bit of curve to give him an effeminate look that girls seemed to go crazy for. Not that he really cared. Past the fake smiles and loud, false words he would expel, Draco was just tired and, admittedly, lonely.

No one actually cared about him, He found in those lost depths of his mind. Side affect of time control, as he called it, you think a little too much. You're alone with your thoughts a little too often. You begin to notice things you didn't before.

His mother saw him as nothing more than her only child, born to bring forth grandchildren and magical genius. His father saw him as nothing but the next heir of the Malfoy manor and name, and he expected him to keep it to it's reputation. His friends were there because girls chased after him, and the girls were after him for that wreck of a body he'd lost all care for. Potter and Weasley only saw him as some sort of enemy, which was understandable. To Hermione, he was brilliant, but she hated his mouth when he was surrounded by his friends. Again, that was more than understandable. He was an asshole trying to keep up his public image. And, most of all, to his teachers, he wasn't anything but a brain with an attitude. Even transfiguration, his personal weakness, was lead into discussion by him.

Year five was a blur of him emaciating into what he was now. A skeleton. He hadn't changed since then, aside from growing ever slightly. Now, Draco was around sixty-seven inches. His body weighed around fifty-two kilograms on top of that. His stomach filling spell was used twice a day, and he was able to survive on whatever small amount of nutrition that particular spell filled his body with. Around this time was when he brought the sleeping spell back. Before, his dreams would comfort him. Now, they taunt him. He didn't want to see them. Those floating black ghosts, that tattoo he was due to get, any of it. He wished for someone to care for him even a little bit, to listen to him and try to help.

Yet, it's not like anyone would care. Everyone paid attention to and cared about Harry Potter and his little friends now, Draco couldn't help but approach that thought with a little bit of bitterness. They didn't have to sell their lives away to the dark lord. It wasn't in their blood to betray others to save the ones they loved. To go against the ones they wish they could have befriended. The young Malfoy was alone. No one knew what he had to do. No one would understand that he didn't have a choice.

Snape was too busy preparing himself for what was happening, as well as helping Harry out on the side. Draco could understand that. He'd drop everything in a second for a chance to help Potter out more than anyone he knew, but he knew he couldn't do that. It was certain death. So the boy continued on, his bones grinding and body complaining every step he took. Every day he spent wondering what it was like for others to enjoy sleep, or enjoy food, or even comfort. He didn't have any of that. The blond wandered listless and silent, as though he were one of the ghosts that haunted the grounds.

At the end of year five, Draco found the newest book, which you could say was another start to where he was now.

 _Satisfaction_ by that same author he'd first found years ago. This book suited his current wants nicely. The last two years, Draco had been walking around, numb and vulnerable. That was a problem, he decided one night as he read his new book. With his upcoming decisions and ground approaching, he needed to be strong. He needed to be able to withstand anything.

Soon enough after learning a few spells, he was brought away from death eaters and Voldemort. Draco used his mental and physical strength to change up the game. He didn't make any pledges or promises. Though, he did tell them that if the time came for it, he may help them. Sure, it pissed off his father a great deal, but it saved Draco's ass. He was done living for others. In short, Draco was done living at all. That is, what he thought once upon a day.

Year six has now just passed, and Draco had no clue where he stood with things. At the beginning, which you could have called a start, Draco made his first slice.

Nothing more than a scratch across his left ankle. Words couldn't say how painful that was, with how deep he'd done it. Naturally, this was because he hadnt practiced or perfected it just yet. He knew how to heal himself, being taught that skill from his first book. But he didn't stop, he continued reading and listening to the book. It told him, rather personally, spells that would slice his skin. Spells that would bruise him and make his skin stronger in the end. Day and day flew by for him, at least for the first three months. Scratches took a while to heal, so he had to be patient and creative. Scars to his back and ankles, fresh scratches along his thighs- Something he'd read in the later chapters, and bruises right along his arm gave him some form of comfort. He was addicted, and he felt immortal.

Draco didn't have to eat.

He didn't have to sleep.

He wasn't obligated to heal.

The boy thought he was strong. Yet, thankfully, He didn't parade anything, too ashamed for anyone else to see these scars of his. Which is why he never sliced his arm. Bruises weren't noticeable, but scratches were. This allowed him to roll up his sleeves to his elbows, displaying lithe limbs without a hitch. No one had to suspect a thing. It was for his own personal pride. To see what his body had been able to withstand. To bring himself to life with self-inflicted pain. No one ever saw it. He was hidden. He was safe, tucked away behind some image and reputation. No one saw him or what he did. That is, until the end of sixth year.

\-------------------------------

One day in May, Harry Potter just happened to stumble into the private bathrooms. The ones Draco used. The blond didn't notice, too busy inspecting his body, watching the red slowly lead into pink. Then he would walk into the water, letting the warmth of it sting his legs and hips. He kept his head low, tears running down his cheeks. He was proud, but he also did this because he thought he deserved it now. For all the pain he caused, for all the words he'd said. If there were a spell he could learn to remove his voice, Draco secretly wished there was another book written by that Marvolo, a name he now whispered as the man who made him a god. A ghost. He wanted him to write more. To take even more away from him. To scar him more. He needed it. He was addicted to it, jolting as the water graced his back.

It wasn't until he heard a splash that Draco started, blinking to clear his vision as he looked towards the sound. Naturally, he found himself submerged in water due to falling off balance, legs unable to withstand the sudden current going towards the splash. With a totally dignified rise to the surface, Draco found himself being grabbed by the upper arms and shook. Everything was blurred, and he could hear wind in his ears. By the time he could even open his eyes to look at or focus on the other person, Malfoy was brought face to face with a very troubled looking Potter.

The dark haired boy's mouth was open, brows drawn. As though he wanted to yell at Draco, but no words were able to come to his lips. Therefore, the smaller boy resigned to allow his false, haughty nature take control. His words were sharp and articulate, "This happens to be Slytherin bathroom, thank you. Not that you have any business in a private bath, either, Potter."

Harry damn near flinched when Draco spat his last name at him. On the outside, he managed a smirk, a hidden coil in his belly telling him how strong he was to pull that reaction. Whatever the other boy had seen, Malfoy was sure that his words could remove any sympathy. He wasn't looking for someone to feel bad for him. He was alone, and he had already realized he always had been alone, so it didn't matter to him how Harry felt about any of this.

Yet, there was still part of him that leaned into his touch, wanting to be comforted. Draco couldn't tell you the last time he'd been hugged or held, kissed or caressed. The boy felt his skin come alive in a different way, now, and Draco didn't know how to handle it. Malfoy did. He began to push himself away from Harry, shaking his head with what would have been a snotty laugh as he made his way over to the ledge to wipe his face with a towel, "Listen. If you truly needed to see a naked person, you could have asked your redhead sleaze."

He didn't mean that. Ginny was great, honestly. As were most of the Weasleys, but Draco was a Malfoy. They didn't say stuff like that.

"And you've ruined perfectly good robes. Won't the mudblood be furious with you?" Draco didn't mind Hermione. She was bold, and she was the only one he knew with a mind like his that has even given him a second glance. She was also beautiful and could pack a punch, which he knew from experience. "Now. If you will excuse me-"

Of all things, Draco was not expecting to be slapped across the face as soon as he turned to face Harry again. After the initial shock, he returned the gesture. That was rude, despite Draco's antagonizing words. Soon enough, the boys were smacking and splashing each other in the water. Draco hadn't even noticed how close Harry was getting until he found his upper arms being held again. This time, they were, rather, pinned to the wall of the bath behind him.

"What the fuck, Malfoy?" That voice. Draco couldn't help it as his face scrunched into confusion. Harry Potter was crying. Over seeing scars and bruises? The only difference between them and other people's is that he made them. Oh. Right. The book told him people didn't like that, that they would lecture or try to comfort. Yet, they didn't understand. They didn't know the addiction. Marvolo was a genius, warning his reader.

Draco steeled his gaze as Harry continued, "You cannot honestly expect me to leave you like this. Are you kidding me? Out of anyone, I never expected." There was a pause, and then: "Draco, why are you doing this to yourself?"

Hearing his first name, the boy couldn't budge the lump in his throat, couldn't speak or spit words to get Harry to go away, so he was content to just listen to Potter for once.

"You always seemed so fine. Your head was always high, and you are always so proud and god damn cocky about everything. You're a genius, and you know that. You have so many friends and- and all of those admirers. Sure, you have.. weird eating habits, and you always bathe late at night... and walk alone.." That voice slowed as a few things clicked into place in his head. Then again, all it brought forward was more tears from the chosen one. "Malfoy, seriously, what the hell. Why?"

Then came another bout of shaking as Harry began to lose it a bit. Unable to keep the tears out of his own eyes again, Draco kept his gaze on a wall behind the other boy's head. He didn't see him, he didn't see him, he didn't see him. Except, he totally did. He definitely saw those eyes squeeze shut, tears falling out of those dark lashes as Harry felt everything for him. What he now expected was another slap, but once again, the golden boy had a surprise for him. Instead of violence, he greeted with a wet, white button up as a warm figure brought him into a hug.

Draco couldn't accept it, though.

He was a Malfoy. He wasn't weak. His scars proved how strong he was.

But just as he was jolting away from Harry, he was given a reason to. For some ungodly reason, Potter could never be alone. At least, for more than ten minutes. It wasn't long until the sounds of footsteps were heard. Yet, no matter how Draco struggled, he lacked the strength to go up against the Quidditch king that was Harry Potter, who held him in place with his back facing the doorway so Ron and Hermione could see the faded white gashes.

Even as he heard a gasp and a startled, squeaked call of his name from the weasel, Draco struggled against Harry's hold. Yet, there was something here that broke him. He had never let anyone see these marks, these wounds, before. And now, three people, three too many, were seeing them. And for some strange reason, they actually cared.

After a long discussion with them- Rather, after they managed to pry bits and pieces of information from him, Malfoy began to become just Draco. The whole conversation was a blur and all Draco could remember was a strong want to run and hide. Hell, for the first few weeks, Harry or Hermione would refuse to let Draco have his wand, afraid of what he would do to himself. He hated it, and he hated them. Who were they to control him or what he did? They were taking his power, his only strength away from him.

It was hard, the boy going through what Hermione called "withdrawl", a symptom of addiction. Malfoy didn't care what it was called. He snapped at them, and he was mean. But no one flinched now, those three knew. They knew the difference between Malfoy, the arrogant prat, and Draco, the boy who was lost for so long. As if they were completely different entities all along. Malfoy was haughty, and he was the instinctual side. When Draco didn't know what to do or how to react, he'd fall right back into line of what he'd been taught and shown growing up. No emotion, only pride. That side kept his sleeves and pants long to cover the mistakes his true self created to regard later.

Draco was his real self. He was the one afraid to keep the windows open if he had to change his clothes. He was quiet, and he was gentle. Draco was always the brains of the operation, the truth but also the lies. Draco was always hidden, persuaded by the lies of Marvolo R. Tide (Marvolo Rodlem Tide, to be specific). He couldn't eat too much at a time, body conditioned to be full from just half a peach at this point. It was hard to make his appearances at dinner, knowing the shock that it brought his housemates to see him. Those friends he saw belonged to Malfoy, he decided, as they ignored him just for the sake of whom he showed up with and the expression he wore on his face. Hell, even Dumbledore and Snape came to check on Draco, noticing he wasn't wearing as many layers today. Now that he was being truthful to himself, it was obvious that there was something different about him to others.

Then, he hadn't known how he felt either. But now, it was worse.

Now, he stood in front of his mother and father at the station. Next to them were all of the Weasleys. Draco felt like a coward, hiding behind Ron and Harry, who had practically taken him in as a friend. It took a bit of persuading on Ron's part, and a few, personal talks in the young hours of the morning. Apparently there were notes sent to each set of parents through McGonagall, and Draco felt like a scolded child, unable to look his own parents in the eye. Even his father looked sympathetic, and that wasn't what Draco wanted. He had simply wanted to die as lonely as he lived.

And yet, there was a part inside of him that continued to accept this. Maybe, just maybe, this was better. He had people to lean on now, whether he wanted to talk or not. Whether he could even try. And he could be there for them, too.

He wasn't just Malfoy anymore. He was Draco, and he had friends, even if Hermione had to go home. The boys were keen to stick to Draco's side, still mildly afraid, despite the last two months of Draco being clean, to leave him alone. Harry talked to Draco's father, having a bit of an authority over him; as well as that persuasive quality to his voice and argument. It was mildly terrifying, feeling his parents look at him and speak. He had to talk to them, and he had to explain himself in front of all of them. The Malfoy heir kept his story short and simple, handing over the books his father had bought him, and he told them that he put the spells to use, thinking they would make him stronger. Ron was quick to fill them in with more of the details.

"It's an addiction. We've been workin' with him on it. He's been clean the last few months that he's been hanging around us. So," The ginger trailed off, looking over to Harry.

"So, we were wondering if he could maybe come stay with us at The Burrow," The dark haired boy finished without missing a beat.

"Fine," Lucius nodded, staring pensively at his son. It still hadn't clicked in his mind why his son had done this to himself. Let alone why it had become an addiction, and why he chose to keep his scars to heal them the muggle way. Why he had some crazy obsession with seeing the marred form that had become his body. He wanted his son to explain to, to talk it through with, him, but that haunted expression on the ghostly face had him wary enough to look at the author. It seemed Draco had been giving his life to the dark lord. Though, it was in a slower and more dangerous way. "Draco, I am never to hear of you reading from this author again. Are we clear?"

  
"Yes'sir," Draco managed to mumble, finally lifting his gaze to meet the understanding of his father's eyes. Then those pale blues shifted over to his mother, who was holding back tears. She surged forward to hug her son, similar to how Hermione hugged him after a while, and she cried into his shoulders, telling him how sorry she was. This was exactly why he didn't want anyone to know, he thought as he looked around. They thought he was their responsibility, that this was their fault. Pity was everywhere, and it just made Draco feel like hiding himself away again and becoming Malfoy once more. Not that his new friends would allow that anyhow. Draco was theirs now. To care for, be comforted by, and to befriend.

\---------------------------------

And now, he stood in front of The Burrow. Harry and Ron stood in front of him, walking just barely behind the older Weasleys. They were planning on asking if they could go play out somewhere or let Draco see all the rooms, something exciting like that. For the moment, Draco had Fred and George on either side of him, who were being strangely kind to him.

Before they even got inside, Fred held his arm, leading him over to the side, "Listen, Blondie. You gotta let us do something about this. If you're gonna play Quidditch here with us on the off days, you'll be getting plenty of your bruises."

"That is, if Mum or Dad let you play," George shrugged, coming over with his wand. Surprisingly, Draco knew what to do.

Rolling up his sleeves slowly, he received help to get the long sleeves up against the base of his armpits. Then, with a spell Draco hadn't learned yet, George touched his wand to Draco's skin. The bruises faded, and their aches were gone. At least, for one arm. They allowed him to stretch it, cracking his knuckles and wrist loosely. It felt better than it had ever been. Then came the other arm, which healed a little differently. There was a bit of pain with that one, since Draco actually had a small scratch there that was healed, making him bite his lip and shake slightly. Fred held his shoulder as everything healed and stretched, asking him, "Now, that wasn't so bad. Was it?"

There were kind smiles on the identical faces, and not a lick of pity. A small notion to ruffle Draco's hair and flip him over their shoulder to run around the house, yes, but no pity. That brought real comfort from the only child, who idly wondered what it would have been like if he had been given siblings. Would he have turned out like this? Would he have fallen prey and become Voldemort's only reader? Or would he have been overprotective or silly? He didnt know what he would be like growing up with siblings, but, at least for the summer, he could find out what it is like to have them. And soon enough, the young Malfoy was brought into his house.

He may not know how all this technically started, and he didn't exactly know how he felt about it now. But things might just be looking up for him, he smiled and thought as he smelled the warm aroma of food; For once, Draco Malfoy was hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your patience with reading through this!! Please, comment and give some feedback! I'd love to hear if there's anything you like or anything that I should fix.


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